


After the Rain

by verhalen



Series: Learning To Fly [2]
Category: Flameborn (Multiverse), TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bachelor Auction, Birthday Sex, Birthday Smut, Biting, Broken Engagement, Elves Reborn As Mortal, Gay Sex, Hair-pulling, I'm Sorry Ginuwine, I'm Sorry Tolkien, Light Bondage, M/M, Magical Realism, Massage, Oral Sex, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Rough Sex, Soren being Soren, Stripper Dancing Sören, Sören Has No Chill, Sören's A Good Ride, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:24:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verhalen/pseuds/verhalen
Summary: Sören Sigurðsson, a successful neurosurgeon in London, is less successful in his personal life, still reeling from a broken heart that happened over a year ago.  He is talked into a bachelor auction for charity, where he will meet a certain blast from his as-yet-unknown-to-him ancient past who wants to show him he is worth far more than he thinks he is.
Relationships: Anthony Hewlett-Johnson (OMC)/Sören Sigurðsson (OMC), Fëanor/Glorfindel, Glorfindel/Original Male Character
Series: Learning To Fly [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1539544
Comments: 58
Kudos: 21





	1. Uninvited

**Author's Note:**

> Sören Sigurðsson and Anthony Hewlett-Johnson are my OMCs. For more information, please refer to my [Transformative Works Statement](https://verhalen.dreamwidth.org/263827.html).
> 
> **November 2020 update:** This was an early birthday gift to myself in 2019. For mental health reasons, I have subsequently made some edits; the comments on this fic reflect the earlier edition of this story.

**November 2014**  
_London, England_  
  
  
  
It was Thursday, November twentieth, and Sören Sigurðsson had just finished up his latest long shift at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, where he was a neurosurgeon, employed by the NHS. When he'd come to the UK from Iceland in 2010 he'd specifically wanted to work for the NHS rather than going into private practice, not just because the NHS would sponsor his visa, but also because he'd learned in Iceland that a social safety net was important - he was a firm believer in socialized medicine, especially hearing horror stories about what went on in places like the United States. But on days like this he rather understood why the NHS tended to bleed neurosurgeons into private practice, run ragged as he was. He was in that place of being too exhausted to really be functional, yet not so exhausted that he would go right to sleep when he got home.  
  
He was also in a bit of a funk. His thirtieth birthday was coming up on Tuesday the twenty-fifth, and it would be a particularly unpleasant date this year. Indeed, this entire weekend coming up would be unpleasant. At his break, a couple of colleagues he was friendly with were going on about some charity auction happening on the night of the twenty-fifth. Pamela, one of the neurosurgeons, a pretty redhead in her thirties, had convinced Colin, a young Black neurosurgeon, and Ed, a fortysomething, bald and stocky neurologist, to participate in the bachelor auction.  
  
"Come on, mate," Ed said to Sören, "don't let us make arses of ourselves all alone."  
  
"You'd be a hit," Pamela said.  
  
"I... I don't know about all of that." Sören frowned into his salad.  
  
"It's for a good cause," Colin said. "The Great Ormond Street Children's Hospital."  
  
"Yeah," piped up Amy, one of the nurses, bottle blonde. She folded her hands and batted her eyes, her best innocent face. "Won't someone think of the children?"  
  
"Exactly," Ed said. "It's for the kids."  
  
"More like the kids you think you'll be fathering on your date," Sören snarked.  
  
"Ohhhhh, shiiit," Colin said, laughing.  
  
Ed rolled his eyes. "I doubt that. Most of these dates don't go anywhere. I've done it before. The ladies just want to look, not touch."  
  
"Speak for yourself," Colin said, elbowing him.  
  
Sören frowned again and shook his head.  
  
"Well, if you change your mind, you have until Monday afternoon 2 PM to sign up," Pamela said. She wrote down contact info on a piece of paper and passed it onto Sören. "It would look really nice, the more blokes from our hospital who sign up."  
  
Sören had a mind to throw away the paper right away, but not with so many eyes on him, so he tucked it into his pocket next to his cell phone. And promptly got so busy with the rest of his shift that Sören mostly forgot about it.  
  
He was renting an upscale studio apartment in Holborn and was within walking distance of a few cafes. He had food at home, but in the chilly rain he wanted a hot drink to warm his bones and also a jolt of caffeine in his system so he could do some art to unwind. Art had been his safety valve as long as he could remember but he'd had a dry spell for most of the past year and suddenly, he felt inspired again.  
  
He ducked out of the rain into the coffee shop and got in the queue. He took his hands out of the pockets of his leather duster and flexed them, rubbed them together to get the blood flowing. His took his nape-length mop of dark curls out of the man bun he wore at work, not wanting to wait till he got home to make the transformation. He knew he looked like hell, he could feel the fatigue on his face, and having his hair down would offset that a bit. He rubbed his beard as he looked at the menu, which was force of habit even as he'd been here dozens of times already. And it was part of shifting gears mentally out of brain scans and the operating table and case reviews, back to the real world. He could still hear Rush - his preferred music to operate to, along with Led Zeppelin, Tool and Dream Theater - in the back of his head.  
  
When he was right in the middle of the queue, with four people still ahead of him, he knew what he wanted and looked around the coffee shop - again force of habit. People who weren't doctors or patients, everyday people going about everyday business.  
  
And then he heard a deep, commanding voice call his name. "Sören?" A voice he hadn't heard in just over a year.  
  
Sören froze, and his eyes followed the direction of the sound. He'd know that voice anywhere, and he'd know those green eyes anywhere. Across the coffee shop, at a table by himself near a window, there he was. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, his ex-fiance. Anthony had his laptop out, a briefcase and a stack of paperwork, his leather trenchcoat open over a dapper pinstripe Brooks Brothers suit. His short dark hair was a little unruly from the wet but he still looked put together. As he always did.  
  
If Anthony was still in the flat where he and Sören had been living together, in Kingston upon Thames, he was a bit of a ways out, unless he had just come from Lincoln's Inn. Judging from the laptop and his briefcase and papers, he was meeting a client here or someone relevant to a client's case, and they either hadn't shown up yet or had just left.  
  
Whatever it was, Anthony seemed to put all work aside as his classically handsome features broadened into a smile and he rose from his table.  
  
"Oh god," Sören said, heart racing. This was exactly what he did not need today, today of all days.  
  
"Brown Eyes." The voice was warm, honeyed as it spoke the pet name for Sören. Anthony held open his arms, inviting Sören to go over there and give him a hug.  
  
As if the past hadn't happened. As if they hadn't been done for a year. And for the first few months after it was over, Sören had prayed for a moment like this, where he could run to Anthony and be held and everything would just be fine, somehow. The ache had never really gone away, but Sören had given up the hope of such a moment, and had gotten to a place where even if the moment presented itself, he had too much pride to go there.  
  
It was Sören's pride that wanted to turn away now, to ignore him and look at the menu again, get his damn coffee and dash off to his flat without one look or one word, to hide away and forget what he'd seen, like Anthony didn't even exist. And it was that gnawing ache in him - the torch he'd carried, and still rather did, despite everything, the feeling that his prayer had finally been answered but it was too damn late - that set Sören into a panic, heart pounding, breath in a gulp.  
  
He got out of the queue. Anthony was still waiting, and Sören ran, not to him, but out of the coffee shop altogether. This was a bad idea with his asthma, and already he was reaching for the inhaler in his leather duster, as he kept running, not wanting to give the longer-legged six-two barrister a chance to start after him. Sören cursed the traffic light that made him wait, looking over his shoulder, hoping Anthony wasn't going to follow him. Not because he was scared of Anthony, but because he was scared of how he felt. He needed to get far away from the temptation.  
  
As soon as the light changed, Sören gunned it across the street, and it was then that he puffed from his inhaler, letting himself breathe as a large bus rolled past. He walked the rest of the way to his flat, and then began the march upstairs, where Sören once again cursed himself for taking a third-story apartment with his long shifts being on his feet, and his asthma.  
  
The tears didn't come right away. First Sören "scrubbed in", force of habit as a surgeon where he was washing his hands constantly. Then he started his own coffee maker - the appeal of the coffee shop had been something faster, something with a more exciting flavor. Then he took off his duster, his Doc Martens boots. His scrubs came off in the bathroom, and he took a very quick shower before putting on a pair of flannel pajamas, and his bunny slippers. Before he left his bedroom, he grabbed his stuffed tiger.  
  
His tiger's name was Tony, and it had been a gift from Anthony Hewlett-Johnson about a month into them living together. There were plenty of other gifts Anthony had given him over the nearly two years that they'd been together that Sören had rejected and left behind on that final final day, most notably the Rolex, nor did he have the platinum-and-diamond engagement ring, which he'd thrown at Anthony just before he stormed out. But he still had Tony. Sören carried him now like a small child dragging a doll around.  
  
When he came into the open plan living area and kitchen, his coffee was ready to be poured and fixed. He took the coffee over and flomped on his couch, curled up in the fetal position, holding Tony as he waited for the scalding coffee to cool. The tears came now, quiet at first, then loud and ugly.  
  
Just before he could take a sip of the coffee, his cell phone went off - not a call, but a text.  
  
Sören grabbed the phone and cringed when he saw the number. Cringed again when he saw the message. _I miss you._  
  
Sören shot back with a poop emoji.  
  
Anthony sent another text: _Your birthday's coming up soon._  
  
"No shit, Sherlock."  
  
_You shouldn't be alone on your birthday._  
  
"Oh, and you assume I'll be alone? Typical." Sören snorted. But of course, Anthony knew him as intimately as anyone ever had, knew Sören's habits... knew that Sören was unlikely to rebound so quickly, with his seventy-two-hour workweeks, being an introvert, and the wariness that came naturally after something like being cheated on.  
  
"Like you give a shit," Sören mumbled. He knew as soon as the words were out of his mouth that Anthony did, in fact, still give a shit. They both had. Too much. That was why it _still_ hurt a year later.  
  
Why the wound was still raw, his anger as strong as his love. Sören made a reply of another poop emoji, this one flanked by three knife emojis, hoping Anthony would get the message.  
  
He sipped his coffee and hugged Tony again. He wasn't in the mood to sketch or paint now, at least not for awhile yet. He felt rattled to his core.  
  
He and Anthony had planned their wedding for Friday, November twenty-second, 2013. Sören's twenty-ninth birthday would have fallen during the honeymoon - Anthony had planned a trip to the Swiss Alps. If they'd gone ahead with their wedding - if Sören had not been sent home from the hospital sick with the beginning stages of flu that fateful day in late October, when he'd found Anthony and another man in their bed - they would be having their one-year wedding anniversary this weekend. Today would have been their three-year relationship anniversary; Sören and Anthony went on their first date on Saturday, November nineteenth, 2011 and had mutually decided the next morning, a rainy Sunday where they'd woken up in each other's arms to make slow, sweet love, that they wanted to be together. It seemed rather bitter coincidence that Sören would happen to run into him today. Almost like fate was wagging a finger: _You guys should try it again._  
  
Sören scowled. _**No.**_  
  
It wasn't even the sexual infidelity that bothered him - Sören wasn't a fan of monogamy and had considered several times broaching the subject of an open relationship, not that he'd thought either of them had any time with their crazy schedules. It was the dishonesty, and putting them both at risk of disease in said dishonesty.  
  
It was what came out in the end.  
  
_"No, I don't love him. I love you. I want you. But you're never around. You're always working, or too exhausted from working. And when you're not, you don't want to go out anymore. You want to stay home and draw or paint. I don't mind that sometimes, but I mind it being all the time. It feels like a rejection. You love your art more than me. I have needs, and you're so fucking self-absorbed."_  
  
It had stung - Sören felt like he was the opposite of self-absorbed, running himself into the ground to take care of everyone but himself, constantly. He had tried so very hard to keep from drifting apart from Anthony, to express love, affection. They'd had a very hot, passionate sex life, when they had time for it. Going out to pubs and schmoozing had been trying even when he wasn't so perpetually exhausted, as an introvert, but he didn't like the superficial "elite" crowd Anthony ran with, or the dramatic change in Anthony's personality in public. Sören loved his Anthony, the one behind closed doors. He couldn't stand what Anthony became when he was out there trying to be suave and sophisticated, wearing a sort of mask or persona. That wasn't his partner, that wasn't the man he'd said "yes" to marrying.  
  
And Sören had lashed back. Oh, how he'd lashed back. And Anthony's sharp tongue was finally turned against him. Sören knew he could and did use it as a weapon against others. He knew that Anthony the barrister was a shark, watching for signs of vulnerability and weakness in the opponent, drawing blood, because that was literally his job. He never expected the man who bought him a soft toy and built blanket forts with him and ate ice cream with him from the carton as they played video games in their pajamas or watched bad sci-fi movies and went into hysterics with snarky commentary, the man who he trusted enough to share his body with, to surrender deeply enough to hit the heights of passion to multiple orgasms, would use love as a weapon against him, in the end.  
  
Anthony had never been abusive. It would have been easier if he had. Sören wished he could hate him, see himself as better off without the man. But in that last hour, Anthony's mouth had finally gone off, for the first and last time.  
  
_"What does he have that I don't?" Sören's eyes narrowed.  
  
"A bigger cock, for one thing."_  
  
It was such a shallow insult, and Sören knew at eight inches he was far from small, but it had been the going-for-the-jugular insult to his manhood and what it represented, more than the actual words of the insult itself. If Anthony couldn't respect Sören enough to tell him "I need more sex than what you can give me with your schedule", and that disrespect was enough to tank close to two years by throwing in the insinuation that Sören wasn't "man" enough compared to this guy he supposedly wasn't even in love with, it was just sex... well, Sören didn't need him. He didn't need anyone.  
  
And so it was that Sören had been alone for a year. Single. Celibate. Pent up. He had a wank once in awhile... fantasizing about past encounters with Anthony, which always made him come hard and made him feel a little dirty afterwards, wishing he wasn't still so hung up.  
  
_You shouldn't be alone on your birthday,_ Anthony's words came to him.  
  
"You're goddamn right."  
  
He found himself getting up and walking towards the laundry hamper. Pulling his scrub bottoms out, fishing in the pocket for the slip of paper with the contact info Pamela had written down, regarding the charity auction. It was early evening now, Sören didn't know if the office would be closed, but he'd try and worst case scenario, leave a message.  
  
Three rings. "Hello?"  
  
"Hi, yes, I'm calling about the auction you're having next week. I'm interested in being one of the bachelors auctioned off to benefit the children's hospital?"  
  
"Oh yes. Name?"  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson."  
  
"Your age?"  
  
"Thirty next week."  
  
"Happy birthday, dear. Profession?"  
  
"Neurosurgeon, National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery."  
  
"Fabulous. Will you be bid on by women, men, or both?"  
  
"Both," Sören said. He had far less experience with women than with men, on the more gay end of bisexual, but he was open to dating women, and he doubted anything would come of this date anyway.  
  
He was asked about his vital stats, what sort of outfit he wanted to wear and if he had a song in mind for "showing off assets". He already felt like he was going up on the meat market, and part of him couldn't believe he was agreeing to this, but here it was.  
  
After some more exchanges of information, he was told where to be and what time for Tuesday, and that he'd need to be an hour in advance of the auction's start so their "style expert" could do a once-over in case "adjustments needed to be made". The date also wasn't happening right that evening, so though Sören wouldn't be alone on his birthday in the sense that he would be surrounded by others, the date wouldn't be happening earlier than Friday the twenty-eighth, contracting to get the date done sometime that weekend.  
  
When the phone call ended, Sören reeled a bit in shock of what he'd just done. But he needed to start getting over Anthony, somehow, and this seemed like a start in that direction. If fate had answered his prayers months late with Anthony showing up out of the blue with open arms, this had to be dropped into his lap as well.  
  
Sören got up to heat up leftovers, and grabbed his tablet. He thought about putting on music to help him unwind, but for now he was content to listen to the rain fall.


	2. Going Once, Going Twice

Sören had been told to arrive an hour early, so he arrived two hours early, just to be on the safe side - the auction was happening at a conference facility on a skyscraper in Canary Wharf, which always confused Sören even though he'd been living in London for four years now, everything in Canary Wharf looked alike to him with all the glass. But he didn't get _too_ lost, and had some time to spare prior to the hour-before-the-auction. The bachelors were meeting in a private room with a style consultant, and some catering had been left out. Sören made a beeline for Colin and Ed, where Colin was having some punch and Ed was nibbling pretzels.  
  
"Sören, my man." Colin bro-fisted him. "You made it after all."  
  
"Jæja." Even though Sören liked Colin and Ed and they weren't homophobic at all, he tried not to bring too much of his personal life into his job, so they'd only known that Sören and his ex-fiance had broken up - they'd been invited to the wedding, along with some of Sören's other colleagues, along with some of Anthony's colleagues; Sören had never discussed the particulars of what happened. "Decided I might try to... get back in the saddle."  
  
"Yes, good." Ed nodded. "I had a bitter divorce five years ago, she really ridiculed my manhood on the way out, events like this help me feel more... you know." Ed grinned.  
  
Sören nodded too, remembering that final barb.  
  
_"What does he have that I don't?"  
  
"A bigger cock, for one thing."_  
  
Anthony had never been unkind to him prior to that - always the opposite - and Sören knew he'd said some scathing things when he'd come home to find Anthony in bed with another man, so what had come out of Anthony's mouth had been more of a reaction. It still stung, and moreso that Anthony was willing to throw away close to two years, weeks away from walking down the aisle with him, to get his rocks off with some random guy on Grindr rather than simply talk. _"I am not going to_ beg _to get my needs met."_ In the end, Anthony's pride had been greater than his love, and Sören took a blow to his own pride. He'd avoided dating since that time, hadn't gone cruising, not simply because of his schedule, but he was afraid of getting hurt again.  
  
He had no expectations of finding an actual partner through this bachelor auction. This was something for fun - something fun to do on his birthday, even, rather than sit at home and try not to cry as he wondered what Anthony was doing and resisted the urge to text him back with _Come over here and fuck me senseless._ When the date came this Friday night, it would be a pleasant diversion, or at best Sören might have his first one-night stand in years. The thought of returning to his old ways, how he'd been in Iceland before he was roofied at a club and woke up in an alley in early 2010... Sören didn't know if he was quite ready for that, or if that was what he wanted at all. But he wanted something other than sleeping alone all the time, using his hand when the need presented itself, fantasizing about Anthony _yet again_, crying out his name as he climaxed, feeling lonely and stupid and broken later. So this was a step away from that, a step towards... something. Something else.  
  
And then, with Anthony fresh on his mind, Sören's eyes narrowed when he saw _him_. Scott, the man Sören had caught Anthony with. He couldn't believe it that Scott was going to be one of the bachelors here. Of course, he'd had an idea that Scott and Anthony weren't exactly together, Anthony had claimed it was just sex and Sören was inclined to believe that. Scott was young, early twenties, clean-cut, uni student at the time of the affair who was likely now moved into a white-collar job, kind of bland-looking blue-eyed blond. Sören had done a bit of research after he'd moved out, and Scott's social media presence suggested he was a party boy and rather a bit too sure of himself. One of Scott's social media handles was in fact "Scotty2Hotty" which Sören would have snarked to death if he didn't want to just never think about the man ever. Even if it hadn't been just sex, Anthony would have gotten bored with Scott rather quickly, Sören knew, because for all that Sören had called him a "shallow, materialistic fuck" when shit hit the fan, Anthony was actually not shallow at all behind closed doors and an actual romantic partner would have to be able to keep up with him intellectually and have some sort of personality. Anthony wouldn't have tolerated "Scotty2Hotty's" ego for very long, either.  
  
_Or calling himself Scotty2Hotty._  
  
But even with knowing that things had likely long since fizzled out with "Scotty2Hotty" and his ex, it was still an unwelcome reminder of everything, a blast from the past that Sören didn't need or want right now. Sören could not keep the glare off his face, and it seemed that Scott _definitely_ remembered him - Sören had come close to killing him, after all - and Scott gave him a smug smile now, as if to say _that's right, I stole your man, bitch_.  
  
"Hello... Simon, is it?" Scott sneered.  
  
That did it. Sören wasn't going to even acknowledge him, but the intentional mangling of his name made something snap in his head. "It's Sören, and... fancy meeting you here, _Scotty2Hotty._" Sören raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter, honey, you can't even get a hookup from Grindr now? You do realize the money being bid tonight is for charity and not going to you, right?"  
  
Ed was talking with some other bachelors but Colin had definitely overheard that and his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. There were probably going to be questions later, questions that Sören really didn't want to get into with Colin, friendly or not.  
  
Scott looked like he'd been slapped in the face - Sören in fact wanted to slap him in the face, the way he'd backhanded Scott on his way out that day - and Sören could feel his tongue sharpening some more, wanting to draw even more blood. He made himself step out before he could make more of a scene than he had, since he was around a couple colleagues and people he knew from the NHS system and he thought he saw at least one or two of Anthony's colleagues as well.  
  
_I better not fucking see Anthony bidding._ That wasn't really Anthony's style, though, especially not with some of his colleagues and acquaintances on the meat market. He was out, but he was also discrete and professional. Nonetheless, Sören felt a prickle of anxiety as he made his way into the hall, about to take the elevator out to where he could get some air for a few minutes.  
  
Once Sören was outside, breath fogging in the night air, he saw he wasn't alone. There was a very tall man - had at least a foot on him. Platinum blonde hair, a warm golden white, down to his waist. He was wearing sunglasses at night, and a black leather duster over a lacy black tunic with red dragon embroidery, and black trousers. He had an interesting-looking white gold ring on his left index finger that also made Sören feel profoundly uneasy when he looked at it, the cabochon in a setting of a large spider, the stone like an opal, fire and gorgeous flashes of color but also something that for some reason brought Lovecraftian fiction and HR Giger's designs into Sören's mind, a cold frisson down his spine. The man was obviously a bit flamboyant, which suggested he was a musician or artist or into theatre, and his clothing and that ring especially looked expensive, which further suggested to Sören he was one of the buyers.  
  
The man held out a pack of clove cigarettes.  
  
"I don't smoke," Sören said. "And neither should you."  
  
The man gave a bitter little laugh. "I don't. But a lot of people around here do, so I carry a pack on hand to be polite."  
  
"It's not polite to offer people cancer."  
  
"You sound like a doctor." The man raised an eyebrow, and even through the sunglasses Sören swore he could feel the eyes, and it felt like they burned. Sören instinctively took a step away without thinking about it, but didn't leave just yet, breathing in the chilly night air.  
  
"I'm a doctor, yes. Neurosurgeon."  
  
"Ah, so you're one of the bachelors being offered this evening." There was a note of amusement in the man's voice.  
  
Sören saw no point in lying, and the question confirmed his suspicion that the man was there for the meat market. "That I am."  
  
"Intriguing."  
  
Sören wanted to spit. Anthony had called him "intriguing" on their first date, in 2011. That was the last word he wanted to hear directed at himself now. Sören knew there was no way this guy could possibly have telepathy and poke at a raw wound for whatever reason, but he was startled enough to go back inside without saying another word.  
  
By the time Sören got back up to the room, the bachelors were being picked off one by one to meet with the style consultant. They had been encouraged to _not_ arrive in the outfit that they were going to wear at the auction but only put it on just before the auction, to keep it clean and in case the style consultant found something more suitable.  
  
Sören had decided to go with his black leather bomber, black leather pants, and a white button-down shirt with a black vest, which he had in a bag. When it got to be his turn, after he changed out of his jeans and T-shirt into that, the style consultant gave him the once-over, and Sören braced himself, because so far everyone he'd seen come out of that little back room was in a suit and tie. But that wasn't him. The clean-cut, buttoned-up Anthony had liked being with a rough-looking "bad boy" and Sören was going to be selling that package - the real him - at the auction.  
  
He braced himself, and the too-heavily-made-up, too-coiffeured style consultant said, simply, "Very nice, dearie."  
  
"So I can wear this?"  
  
She nodded. "Oh yes. It'll be brilliant to offer something different."  
  
"Oh, good." Sören breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't even know why it mattered, since this date probably wasn't going to go anywhere.  
  
"So that's part one."  
  
"What... what's part two." Sören's face fell.  
  
"You need to pick out a song."  
  
"A... song."  
  
The consultant nodded.  
  
"I don't understand. Don't I just get on the mic and say a few things about myself -"  
  
"You give us a few things to say about you, we word it cleverly - that way if someone is feeling a bit awkward with words in front of a crowd, that won't hurt their bidding - and then you... present yourself to your song."  
  
"_Present._" Sören raised an eyebrow. He felt like if it was raised any higher, his eyebrow would fall right off. "You mean, like... do a dance?"  
  
"That's encouraged. Or at least walk around, show the goods. But yes, we'd like you to dance. In fact... we'd like you to undress a little, if you're fine doing that."  
  
Sören's face burned. He couldn't believe he was agreeing to any of this. "OK."  
  
"So we'll start with... what would you like us to say about you?"  
  
"I'm a surgeon, obviously, and... I guess... in my spare time I draw and paint, and..." It was sad that Sören had so little spare time that he couldn't think of much he did in that spare time other than make art, eat, and sleep. _And have the occasional wank to my ex._ "I like kittens." Sören and Anthony both loved cats, but Sören hadn't felt right about getting a cat working seventy-two hours or more each week, so they hadn't adopted a cat. Sören gave a little wistful sigh, thinking of how cute Anthony would be with a baby kitten...  
  
"Right. And your song?"  
  
Sören thought for a minute and then he snickered. "'Pony' by Ginuwine." If he was going to be slutty enough to strip and have people bid on him, then it was go big or go home.  
  
  
_  
  
  
There was a discrete area where the bachelors could watch the other bachelors being bid on, both before and after their auctions. Sören was close to the end of the queue and he doubted he was going to stay after, but Colin and Ed were closer to the beginning and were clearly enjoying all of this, having a beer.  
  
One of Anthony's colleagues, a tall, well-built, bald Black lawyer named Craig, went first. "He's a barrister with an interest in cooking, wine tasting, and sampling delicious ladies, here is Craig Morrison."  
  
_Oh my god that is so forward._ Even Sören's face was burning, and it took a lot for him to be flustered.  
  
Craig came out in a suit and tie and began to dance to "Candy Shop" by 50 Cent... taking off his suit jacket, throwing his tie at a pretty blonde, unbuttoning slowly as he gyrated his hips, like he was a professional dancer and had been practicing for this.  
  
_I'll take you to the candy shop  
I'll let you lick the lollipop  
Go 'head girl don't you stop  
Keep going 'til you hit the spot, whoa  
  
I'll take you to the candy shop (yeah)  
Boy, one taste of what I got (uh-huh)  
I'll have you spending all you got (come on)  
Keep going 'til you hit the spot, whoa  
  
You could have it your way, how do you want it?  
You gon' back that thing up, or should I push up on it?  
Temperature rising, okay, let's go to the next level  
Dance floor jam-packed, hot as a tea kettle  
_  
  
"I've got one thousand quid, do I hear two. Two thousand quid do I hear three. Four thousand quid."  
  
Sören thought Anthony would absolutely die, rolling on the floor, if he could see this now. _God, I miss Anthony._  
  
"Six thousand five. Going once..."  
  
Craig had a terrific body, clearly working out in addition to all that cuisine and wine tasting. If Craig was gay and Sören had been one of the bidders, he'd be tempted to burn six thousand quid just to burn Anthony by fucking one of his colleagues, but he wasn't, and his time would come soon enough. Sören watched as a very eager, very pretty Black woman in a red skirtsuit won the auction, waving her hands frantically, blowing a kiss at Craig, who winked at her.  
  
Ed was next. "Don't be fooled by the dad bod, this neurologist knows all the right moves and he'd love to dance with you! Ladies, this is Edmund Davies!" Ed came out and did a dorky white boy dance to "If I Only Knew" by Tom Jones - keeping his suit on - and amazingly, got a lady to spend two thousand pounds on him.  
  
"Equal parts brain and brawn, this hunky neurosurgeon likes motorcycling, rock climbing, parkour and jogging as well as being a history buff and having a keen interest in science and sci-fi movies, ladies say hello to Colin Traynor!"  
  
Colin bro-fisted Sören and Ed on his way out, stripping to "Let's Go Crazy" by Prince. Sören tried not to notice that his very straight colleague was so gorgeous, milk chocolate physique rippling as he strutted sensuously across the stage. The ladies were eating him alive.  
  
"Nine thousand quid, do I hear ten. Ten thousand quid, do I hear ten five. Eleven thousand. Eleven five, GOING ONCE..."  
  
_Jesus fucking Christ, someone spent eleven thousand five hundred quid on fucking Colin._ Sören couldn't believe it. He had no idea what people usually spent at these things - before now, he would have been happy if the Children's Hospital got five hundred pounds for an evening of his time.  
  
A few more bachelors passed and then it was time for "Scotty2Hotty". Sören didn't want to watch, but it was like a trainwreck.  
  
"Accountant by day, athlete by night, gents may I present to you Scott Stewart."  
  
Scott came out, looking as smug as anything, dancing to "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. Amusingly to Sören, Scott got a grand total of five hundred quid before the auction closed. Sören couldn't help thinking the gay and bi men in the audience saw a diva and knew better, though he also wondered if people were being perhaps more tight-fisted now that some very sizeable bids had come in. He still couldn't believe the eleven thousand five hundred pounds on Colin Fucking Traynor, the goofball who once laughed so hard he snorted Jello in the cafeteria.  
  
Not that he could talk, considering some of Anthony's goofier moments, which only made Anthony even sexier to him when they happened. Sören gave a wistful sigh...  
  
_This sucks. Maybe I should call him._  
  
And then it was Sören's turn. All the blood rushed to Sören's head when he got up, heart pounding. "Break a leg, mate," Ed cheered on Sören's way out.  
  
"This neurosurgeon is a Viking bad boy on the outside, but on the inside he's a sensitive artist who likes kittens. He's also the only bachelor here tonight who can be bid on by _both_ ladies and gentlemen... all the way from Reykjavik, Iceland please say hello to Sören Sigurðsson!"  
  
_God, what the fuck._  
  
And like that, he was out there in front of a few dozen people in his leather jacket, leather pants, button-down shirt and vest, already starting to sweat. He was tempted to bolt. But "Pony" was starting and he'd agreed to do this.  
  
_Pretend Anthony is out there and you want to piss him off._  
  
Sören began to work his hips, thrusting sensuously, suggestively in time with the music.  
  
_I'm just a bachelor  
I'm looking for a partner  
Someone who knows how to ride  
Without even falling off_  
  
"One thousand, two, two thousand, three."  
  
Sören turned around and put his ass into it too, starting to peel off his jacket.  
  
_Gotta be compatible  
Takes me to my limits  
Girl when I break you off  
I promise that you won't want to get off_  
  
"Four thousand, four, five thousand, six -"  
  
_If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it  
  
If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it_  
  
The leather jacket was off now. "One hundred thousand," said the creepy guy with the gold-white hair and funky ring that Sören had encountered outside.  
  
Sören's eyes widened but he was determined to not let his jaw drop. They hadn't hit ten thousand and he jumped right ahead to one hundred thousand? He _really_ did not want to go on a date with this guy, and the dramatic bid hike made him even more apprehensive.  
  
Then as he started to take off his vest, he heard a deep, smooth voice with an accent that was not English - some sort of European - say "Two hundred fifty thousand."  
  
Sören's eyes were directed to the voice - a man who was sitting on the opposite end of the room from Creepy Guy, and shooting him the filthiest look. And the man was one of the most gorgeous men Sören had ever laid eyes on - a flood of long golden-blond hair, most of it worn loose, some of it in a ponytail. Piercing light blue eyes. A pretty face, somewhat feminine or androgynous, full, sensuous lips. Dressed up like a rock star, in a black tunic trimmed with golden flowers, leather pants like the kind he had on.  
  
Sören's dance was directed at him now. He began to unbutton his shirt, locking eyes with him, continuing to roll his hips.  
  
_Sitting here flossing  
Peeping your steelo  
Just once if I have the chance  
The things I will do to you  
You and your body  
Every single portion  
Send chills up and down your spine  
Juices flowing down your thigh  
  
If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it_  
  
The two men were in a bidding war. "Five hundred thousand," the white-haired man insisted. "Six," the blond shot back.  
  
_If we're gonna get nasty, baby  
First we'll show and tell  
Till I reach your ponytail  
Lurk all over and through you baby  
Until we reach the stream  
You'll be on my jockey team_  
  
Sören was shirtless now, vest and jacket kicked aside, only wearing leather pants and his Doc Martens boots, his tattoos and nipple piercings proudly on display. He threw his shirt at the blond and continued to bump and grind, thrusting his crotch, shaking his ass. He thought of all the ways he'd taken Anthony, and the ways Anthony had taken him, and what it would be like to experience that with the sexy-voiced, beautiful blond. The blond mimed a kiss, heat in his eyes as he watched Sören's seductive dance.  
  
"One million quid," Creepy Guy said as the song was winding to a close. Sören gave it his all, moving even more suggestively than before, fucking the blond with his eyes.  
  
_If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it  
_  
"Five million." The blond's eyes narrowed.  
  
Creepy Guy folded his arms and shook his head, and the blond had a small, victorious, _defiant_ smile on his face.

_If you're horny, let's do it  
Ride it, my pony  
My saddle's waiting  
Come and jump on it_  
  
"_Five million pounds,_" the auctioneer said, her voice raspy with disbelief. "Five million quid going once, going twice, SOLD."  
  
Now Sören's jaw dropped. His eyes locked with the blond's one last time before he collected his jacket and vest and ducked into the waiting area where Colin and Ed were screaming and howling with laughter.  
  
"SOMEONE BID FIVE MILLION FUCKING QUID?" Ed bellowed. "I can't bloody believe it..."  
  
"I can't either." Sören was in shock.  
  
And as much as that blond was sexy as hell, and he felt a small glow of pride that he'd spent a literal fortune for a date - money that would be well-used, for a good cause, no less - and was ten thousand times as much as the final bid Scott had received... Sören found he was as concerned as he was proud about it. What could that blond possibly _want_ that he would spend five million quid for? Was his life about to turn into _Fifty Shades of Grey_?  
  
He'd soon find out.


	3. All That Glitters

After the auction, Sören was in a bit of shock, still reeling from the fact that somebody had bid five million pounds on _him_. And not just somebody, but an absolutely gorgeous man with a sexy voice, and from what little Sören had seen of him on the auction floor - Sören remembered how _defiant_ he looked when he scored the winning bid against the creepy man with the white-gold hair - Sören liked his attitude.  
  
Nonetheless, Sören was not in so much shock that he neglected to meet with the coordinator on the way out, who gave him the contact information of the winning bidder, and, as Sören knew going into this, the bidder would have his contact information as well. Sören was instructed to be in touch with the bidder before the end of Friday, which was fine - Sören thought he'd give the gentleman a call tomorrow, after he went home and got some sleep.  
  
But on the Tube ride home, Sören found he was still wide awake, even as exhausted as he was, his mind racing. There _had_ to be some kind of catch, some sort of "too good to be true", with all of this, hadn't there?  
  
Just like there had been with Anthony, after close to two years, the man he'd loved so passionately, the man he trusted, when Sören's trust was so hard-won...  
  
As Sören got off the Tube and began walking towards his flat in Holborn, his phone went off. "Anthony, I swear to fucking _god_ that better not be you," Sören snarled under his breath, almost violently reaching for the phone buzzing away in his pants pocket, ready to give his ex a piece of his mind -  
  
It was a number he didn't recognize, but then, he didn't tend to keep numbers in his head. Sören swiped Accept. "Hello."  
  
"Sören Sigurðsson?" A soft, deep voice. "This is Auryn DeFlowers, your winning bidder."  
  
"Oh!" Sören heard himself exhale sharply. "Jæja, hi... Mr. DeFlowers." _I can't even with that name._ Auryn DeFlowers. _Sounds like a fucking porn star name._ "I... I wasn't expecting you to call so soon."  
  
"I know it is late and you've probably had a long day, but I also thought it would be best to touch base with you sooner rather than later."  
  
"OK, all right, that... that would be helpful. I'm outside right now though and I'd rather not discuss certain things within earshot of others in public, even if they're adults. Can I call you when I'm up in my flat, in a few minutes?"  
  
"Please do. I'll be expecting your call, luv." _Click._  
  
Sören chuckled to himself. _He has class, that's for sure._ He found himself smiling despite his misgivings about this entire thing on the walk up to his flat.  
  
Once he got inside, had taken off his boots, washed his hands, and changed into pajamas, he pulled out the slip of paper with the contact info he'd been given and dialed the number. After one ring Auryn DeFlowers answered. "Hello there."  
  
"Hi. I'm home. We talk now, já?"  
  
"Yes. First of all - may I call you Sören?"  
  
"You may."  
  
"Sören."  
  
Sören found himself smiling again, enjoying the way his name sounded in the man's voice.  
  
DeFlowers went on. "I would rather have some of this discussion in-person before the actual, official date - a prelude to the date, if you will. Is there a time you'll be free?"  
  
"I get off work at ten PM tomorrow night if you're available, otherwise you'll have to come to National to catch me on my break around four or so. If you're meeting me after work, it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to meet either as close to National as possible or as close to where I live as possible, because I work insane hours and the less traveling I have to do, the better it is."  
  
"That's no trouble. Did you have a place in mind?"  
  
Sören gave him the address of the coffee shop where he'd seen Anthony last week, which was open till 1 AM on weeknights. It was close enough to be reasonable for travel distance yet not so close that if this DeFlowers turned out to be a stalker, he'd feel like he was in immediate danger. Though, after he gave the address of the coffee house he realized that if DeFlowers could afford to drop five million quid on a bachelor auction like it was nothing, he could afford a private investigator and probably a squadron of henchmen. Sören shuddered at that thought. He pushed it aside by saying, "And even though I get off work at ten, it takes me time to catch the Tube home, and I'd like to be able to change out of my scrubs, hit the bathroom, breathe for a few minutes, so plan on eleven-thirty if that's fine with you."  
  
"That's perfectly fine, Sören."  
  
"'Kay. Now... is there anything that you _can_ discuss with me over the phone?"  
  
"Mainly putting your mind at ease... for the meeting before the date." A soft chuckle. "I saw the expression on your face when the auction ended, like a deer trapped in headlights -"  
  
"Oh god. I'm sorry." Sören was cautious, but at the same time didn't want the man to be insulted. Under any other circumstances, Sören would have fancied him.  
  
"No need to be sorry. You're probably wondering why I spent five million pounds to go on a date with you."  
  
"...I am, yes."  
  
"I can explain that to you more in-depth tomorrow but for now, let me just say I found you captivating. There was no one else like you at the auction - your beauty, your energy. You are a rare gem in the population at large. A gem I need to possess and treasure for at least a moment in time."  
  
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. DeFlowers, but I didn't sign up for this auction looking for a relationship."  
  
"No, I imagine not. Though this is part of why I called - you are single?"  
  
"Yes." The sigh came out before Sören could stop himself, and he hoped that DeFlowers hadn't heard it, not wanting to show vulnerability in front of a near-stranger.  
  
Of course he had. "I touched a nerve, didn't I."  
  
Sören felt himself reacting, defensive all of a sudden. _Don't you pity me, Auryn DeFlowers._ "I'm going to assume that with the kind of money you have, you could do a background check on me if you wanted so here's the raw, honest truth. I was engaged to be married. Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, barrister, known for some high-profile court cases. I would have been celebrating my one-year wedding anniversary right now if... well..." Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, not liking the anger that was rising in his voice, not wanting to take it out on this man he didn't know, this man who had donated five million pounds to a good cause. He tried to rein it in but there was still an edge to his voice as he went on, "The end of _that_, the whys and wherefores, isn't and will not be public record, but our engagement wasn't a secret, our wedding announcement was in the newspaper. So. Yes. I'm still single, Mr. DeFlowers. I did the charity auction to amuse myself on my thirtieth birthday, I got a bit more than I bargained for. Happy birthday to me." Sören let out a self-deprecating snort.  
  
"I'm sorry, Sören." DeFlowers took a deep breath. "If you'd rather not go on this date at all, would rather skip the preliminary meeting tomorrow, I won't tell them, the money will still go to -"  
  
"_No._" That came out more forcefully than intended. "When I do something like this - well OK, I've never done anything like this, exactly - but when I say I'm going to do something, I do it. We're doing this. I just want you to understand my motivation for this was not to find Mr. Right."  
  
_I found him and then he turned out to be Mr. Wrong._ Except it still felt right, it still _ached_, so much. Sören knew that running into Anthony just before his birthday last week was a leftover of that very odd bond they had - Anthony probably wasn't deliberately searching for him, judging from the looks of things, he doubted Anthony even knew he was in Holborn. But throughout those two years they'd had moments of "tuning in" to each other, like the day Sören was operating and he felt a sudden wave of panic like something was very, very wrong with Anthony, and then on his break, a bomb threat at Anthony's chambers, Lincoln's Inn was all over the news... This was another non-concidence, their paths syncing up just before Sören's birthday, as if fate was pushing them at each other to try it again, and they had been _so good_, until the very, very, very end, which was why it hurt as much as it did, even now.  
  
Sören doubled down on his resolve not to call Anthony immediately when he got off the phone with DeFlowers, even as he had that wild impulse to give in.  
  
The blond man's voice cut into his thoughts, cut into the wound. "From the tone of your voice, I'm surprised you're willing to do this at all, giving your word or not. What _are_ you hoping to find, Sören, if not Mr. Right?"  
  
Sören gathered his thoughts for a moment, searching for the right words. He remembered the confidence DeFlowers had in the auction, like he owned it, like he owned Sören himself. It was the same attitude Anthony would have had if he was there bidding on Sören. Sören had always hesitated to say he had a type, since he'd fucked so many different sorts of people, he had an artist's eye for beauty, he liked variety... and yet he did have an aesthetic with men, if he was honest with himself. Tall, deep-voiced, commanding, dominant. Anthony was all of those things - dominant especially. Sören felt a frisson down his spine, his nipples aching at the whisper of memories of yielding to him, bound, helpless, trusting, surrendering. It was, paradoxically, when he was bound that he had felt the most free, pure passion, pure fire. He'd internally made a quip wondering if his life was about to turn into _Fifty Shades of Grey_ aka _Fifty Shades of How Not To Do BDSM_ \- but Sören also knew he missed being dominated, being taken into anguish and ecstasy. He knew a dominant when he saw one, even though Anthony had been his first, and he hadn't been quite aware of what they were getting into at first.  
  
DeFlowers was a dominant. Sören sensed that into his bones. DeFlowers had power, and he wasn't afraid to use it. And he needed that, right about now.  
  
"Not Mr. Right, no. Mr. Right Now, I guess."  
  
"Well, Sören, it would be an honor to enjoy a night with you. But we'll talk more about the particulars tomorrow because they are, indeed, quite particular. I should let you go now since it's late and it sounds as if you have an early shift tomorrow."  
  
"I do, and thank you for understanding, but I'll see you at eleven-thirty tomorrow night, já?"  
  
"Yes. Sleep well." _Click._  
  
Sören was left holding the phone for a moment, feeling a bit dazed. And a little flustered, heat coursing through him at that voice, the memory of what he'd seen at the auction... what he'd been picking up throughout their conversation.  
  
_Well, if nothing else, this should be interesting._ In the meantime, it was time to go to bed.  
  
Alone.  
  
Sören hugged his body pillow, wishing it was Anthony. Again. Wondering what he was doing right now, if he was sleeping alone tonight.  
  
_I hate that I still want you._


	4. Signed, Sealed, Delivered

Auryn DeFlowers was already there as Sören walked into the coffee shop. Sören made a beeline for the table, and sat down.  
  
"I would have ordered for you," DeFlowers said, "but I didn't want to take a risk with guessing wrongly, especially at this late hour."  
  
Sören nodded. "I'm normally a caffeine junkie but I have to go to bed as soon as I leave here so something like an espresso is out of the question. I'll go for a nice relaxing herbal tea though."  
  
"I can get up and place the order if you tell me what you want. My treat."  
  
"Lavender chamomile?" A pause. "Blueberry scone."  
  
A few minutes later DeFlowers came back, with coffee for himself - Sören raised an eyebrow, it was indeed quite late for that - and lavender chamomile tea and a blueberry scone for Sören. Sören mumbled "_takk_" as he steeped the teabag and began to add sugar.  
  
"Thank you for agreeing to meet me here, Sören," DeFlowers said, meeting his eyes.  
  
"Thank you for wanting to meet me ahead of the date to, ah..." Sören shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "Attempt to put my mind at ease about some things."  
  
DeFlowers nodded, and took a sip of his coffee. The way those full lips worked, Sören wondered what they'd be like sipping his... _Down, boy._ Sören felt his cock stirring, heat flooding him from something other than the proximity of the hot tea.  
  
"I'll cut right to the chase," DeFlowers said, glancing around the coffee shop to make sure there were indeed very few people present at this late hour. "The money that you saw me spend at the auction... money is no object to me. I could have gone higher with my bid and I considered doing so, but I felt as if you would probably be an even harder sell if I did, so I did not."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow as he opened up his hot scone and began buttering it. He could tell DeFlowers was telling the truth about that. "That's a lot of cash to spend like it's water, Mr. DeFlowers."  
  
"I am a very wealthy man."  
  
"Your real name isn't Auryn DeFlowers."  
  
Their eyes met again. "No, it's not." A small smile - menacing and playful all at once. "Good catch."  
  
"I told you yesterday, I almost married a lawyer."  
  
The coffee shop tended to have music playing quietly in the background, an eclectic mix but in blocks of different genres. 1980s R&B was the theme tonight, and as if on cue, a song finally caught Sören's attention, one of the songs that had been "their" songs.  
  
_I will keep on pushing, pushing  
Until I get through  
My main objective baby  
Is to get to you  
  
To turn your mind around  
I know will take time  
But you know I can't wait, no  
You're on my mind  
  
Oh baby  
You are in my system  
I just want you to know that  
Oh  
You're in my system  
Got me burnin' burnin' baby_  
  
It was also adding insult to injury because the song had inspired an eccentric if not outright mad in-joke with himself and Anthony, based on one of the peculiar idiosyncracies of their relationship. Just hearing the beginning of the song would send them into hysterics, especially if anyone else was around to be confused by it.  
  
There was no laughter now. Sören found himself jabbing the plastic knife into the scone, teeth setting, and watched as the blond man's eyes snapped to attention. "Oops," Sören said, and without thinking of it, brought the knife to his lips to lick and suck off the excess melted sweet cream butter. Now those light blue eyes were watching that, too.  
  
"So what's your real name?" Sören asked, trying to push Anthony out of his thoughts again. "Do I get the courtesy of knowing that?" Sören raised an eyebrow. "I don't fuck anyone without getting at least a first name." He took a bite of his scone.  
  
"Bold of you to assume we're going to -"  
  
Sören laughed through a mouthful of scone, and waited to swallow before he spoke. "Honey _please_, you saw me dance at the auction. You didn't spend..." Sören's voice dropped to a whisper, not wanting to attract attention. "Five million quid..." His voice went up again. "For a game of parcheesi."  
  
"You get my name if you sign a non-disclosure agreement," DeFlowers said.  
  
Now both Sören's eyebrows shot up. "Should I have a lawyer look at that first?" _I happen to know one. He wouldn't be too happy to see it._  
  
"It's not complicated." DeFlowers reached and Sören saw him pull up a briefcase, which he opened. He pulled out a clipboard and passed it across the table to Sören.  
  
Sören's jaw dropped when he saw the figurehead of FIORELLA ENTERPRISES and saw he was about to enter into a contract with Aurelio Fiorella. Aurelio Fiorella, the multi-billionaire CEO, who was a notorious recluse, had no pictures of himself available, nobody knew what he looked like, much about him at all. "You're..." He gestured with the pen.  
  
The man nodded and took another sip of his coffee. "As I told you, money is no object to me."  
  
"_I guess not._" Sören let out a low whistle. "Goddamn, son." He put down the clipboard without signing anything just yet. He got the sense Aurelio Fiorella wasn't his real name either, but it was as close as he was going to get to a real name and that would have to suffice. "So... what does someone like you want with someone like me?"  
  
"I own artwork of yours."  
  
Sören's jaw dropped again. He'd only had a few shows - he hadn't had time, but Anthony had encouraged him to show his work, and his mother the architect knew strings to pull in the art world to get him an opening at a gallery. Most of Sören's best work had been done on the WaCom tablet Anthony had surprised him with one day, and Sören had gotten high-quality prints for the shows and his own portfolio. He still occasionally did oils, though none of that since the breakup. There had been very little art, period, since the first few months after the breakup.  
  
But when he was making art, and showing it, a few of his more special pieces - including artwork based on dreams he'd started having within months of beginning his relationship with Anthony - had gone above and beyond their asking price. Well above.  
  
Now he knew who bought them.  
  
"And when you danced at the auction, well..." Aurelio Fiorella made a vague hand gesture. "All that life and vitality and _passion_ that went into those paintings... I saw it in the flesh. You will have to pardon a man for wanting a taste of that for an evening."  
  
Sören thoughtfully munched on his scone, considering his response. When his herbal tea was steeped enough to his liking and not scalding anymore, he washed it down, and then he said, "So... this taste you want. That's why we're here."  
  
"You say we're going to fuck, Sören, but we're not going to fuck." Aurelio folded his arms. "You are worth far more than a quick fuck."  
  
Sören felt like he'd just taken a punch to the gut. He tried to keep his expression neutral, tried to not react - but there it was. Anthony had thrown away close to two years to fuck someone he'd met _on Grindr_. After all the declarations of love, all the vulnerability and the trust and the very same passion of which Aurelio spoke - passion which had inspired Sören's best work, both in the fire of the relationship, and the ashes of grief and rage in the immediate aftermath - Anthony had betrayed him over _that_. It made no sense, to this day.  
  
Sören opened his mouth and tried to speak, but no sound came out. He sipped his tea and pleaded with his eyes for Aurelio to continue.  
  
"I will do nothing without your consent, but I would like that consent to be informed," Aurelio said. "You likely now recall at least a couple of the pieces I own have you in rather... interesting positions."  
  
One of them was a self-portrait Sören had done of himself as Saint Sebastian immediately following the breakup, channeling his raw pain into the WaCom. That had been at the very last show he'd done, months after the breakup. His wrists had been bound in that painting, and he was wearing a collar with a leash tied to the tree where he leaned as arrows pierced him.  
  
Another was of Sören in a submissive kneeling posture, again bound, going up in flames like a phoenix - transforming in the flames, beginning to grow bird-like feathery plumes of fire as if he were more than just a man, but an ancient deity - a look of ecstasy on his face as he was immolated. That painting had been titled _Spirit of Fire_... a name that Anthony had called him occasionally during intimate moments.  
  
Those weren't the only paintings Aurelio owned, if he was the one who'd spent outrageous money on his work. There had been more... paintings of beautiful male elves, which Sören had painted out of his dreams, strange dreams that he and Anthony shared. But those hadn't featured the "rather interesting positions" Aurelio spoke of now.  
  
"So you want to tie me up," Sören said.  
  
"Perhaps." Aurelio nodded. "Would this be acceptable to you?"  
  
"I don't know you." Sören pursed his lips. "I had the experiences you assume I had because of trust. I don't trust anymore."  
  
"But you still burn. And you burn for someone long gone - you keep bringing him up. I can help you."  
  
"I doubt that," Sören said, the edge creeping into his voice again. "I should have been over him before now. I'm not."  
  
"The love, the passion, that inspired you to make the artwork you make - that is not lost overnight, and with someone like yourself, probably not at all."  
  
Sören felt tears sting his eyes, knowing Aurelio was right. He was probably going to carry a torch for Anthony Hewlett-Johnson for the rest of his life, and he hated that.  
  
"I'm not offering to make you forget him," Aurelio said. "But I calculated the timing of when you stopped showing, and when your engagement likely ended. I can give you fresh fire, Sören, to fight fire with fire, leave scorched earth behind... and perhaps from that, something new can grow, as a forest grows back stronger after a wildfire, the soil nourished from the ash."  
  
"_That's_ why you bid on me?" Sören's eyes narrowed. He would not, would not, _would not_ fall apart crying here. He sipped his tea, taking slow, deep breaths, trying to keep calm, running the same internal scripts he did when shit hit the fan at National.  
  
"I desire you. But as much as I desire the body that danced for me... I desire to see a return to the sort of art I bought from you. A return to the gift you have given the world."  
  
"What was up with that other dude you were bidding against?"  
  
"A rival," Aurelio said, nodding. "He knew of my interest in you and he wanted to find out why for himself. He... is not worthy of you." Aurelio looked out the window at the London night, and it seemed as if he were looking someplace else, into another time altogether. "There are things far more worthy of you."  
  
Sören put down his tea and picked up the clipboard. He glanced through the non-disclosure agreement - he understood that a reclusive multi-billionaire like Aurelio had good reason for not wanting a sex partner to go to the press, especially over something potentially kinky. When he decided the contract didn't set off any alarm bells, he took the pen and signed, and passed the clipboard back to Aurelio.  
  
"Friday night at seven," Aurelio said. "I'll pick you up myself."  
  
"You're not having a chauffeur come get me?" It was a statement of surprise, not judgment - Sören would rather not deal with a stranger like a chauffeur, and would feel too strange being driven by someone else in a limo. That wasn't him.  
  
"I don't like having other people do everything for me," Aurelio said. "I drive a Mercedes. Nice cars are one of the few things I appreciate about these times."  
  
Sören found the wording of that _odd_, since Aurelio didn't seem much older than he was, but he couldn't help smiling just the same. "All right. Friday at seven it is. I have the entire weekend off, a belated birthday gift to myself, so we can... take our time on Friday."  
  
"We will," Aurelio promised. He reached across the table for Sören's hand, but instead of shaking it, he kissed it... a kiss that sent chills down Sören's spine, breaking out in gooseflesh, his cock stirring. There was a wicked look in Aurelio's pale blue eyes that Sören found himself responding to.  
  
Sören kept thinking about that look all the way home.  
  
  
_  
  
  
The cobalt blue Mercedes was already waiting outside when Sören bounded down the stairs at seven on Friday, wearing the same outfit he'd worn at the charity auction, carrying an overnight bag.  
  
"Hello, beautiful," Aurelio called from the window. "Want a ride?"  
  
Sören chuckled at the innuendo as he got in the passenger's seat. He stopped laughing as Aurelio pulled him into a deep, hungry kiss, tasting those full, sensuous lips for the first time. Sören heard himself moan into the kiss as their tongues teased, and he shivered as Aurelio's fingers stroked down his cheek, brushed over his throat, down to tease a pierced nipple through Sören's shirt. Already, Sören was going hard for him.  
  
Aurelio gave him a smug little smile as the kiss pulled apart - Sören panting, aching for more - and Aurelio began to maneuver the car from the curb to the road.  
  
_Fuck, I want him._ Sören swallowed hard, forcing himself to look ahead at the city of London lit up in the night, zipping on by. _I want_ this. _Yes, Aurelio, give me fire. It has been so dark and cold for so long._


	5. A Good Ride

Aurelio Fiorella had a penthouse flat in Chelsea; Sören let out a low whistle as he walked inside. The flat Anthony had at Kingston upon Thames was quite nice and Sören had often felt his life was a touch surreal when they lived together, a far cry from the poverty and squalor he'd grown up in. This was beyond Sören's wildest dreams.  
  
Sören and Aurelio walked into an open plan greatroom and kitchen-dining area with white walls, all hung with what looked like original artwork rather than prints of old masters. Up ahead past the kitchen-dining area, on the farthest end of the flat, Sören saw a full-length window with a sliding glass door that led out to a deck with a gorgeous view of London. Throughout the greatroom, the furniture was of heavy wood and shades of gold and white; endtables and shelf cases of different sizes held ceramic, stone, and glass sculptures - many of them erotic in nature. The bathroom, where Sören scrubbed in immediately, was all white with gold trim and had a jacuzzi done in a white marble finish. Sören peeked at the bedroom, done in a sumptuous emerald, smiling at the dramatic canopy four-poster bed with its gauzy curtains and satin sheets, and candles set up in candelabra along the walls and on tables on either side of the bed, ready to be lit for atmosphere.  
  
When Sören wandered out of the bedroom back to the greatroom, Aurelio said, "I assume you would like to have dinner?"  
  
"If you don't mind. Do you have anyplace in mind?"  
  
"I was going to cook for you. I got fish fresh this morning."  
  
"Oh!" Sören blinked slowly, completely surprised by that. "You cook?"  
  
"I would never win a Michelin star, but yes, I cook. And I made the assumption you like fish, being an Icelander."  
  
"You assumed correctly." Sören was thrilled. "I only get to cook for myself once a week or so, I don't have time with my schedule... it's such a treat to have someone else cook for me, wow."  
  
Aurelio smiled. "I thought you might appreciate that."  
  
"I really do." Sören watched him get to work in the kitchen, assembling fish and vegetables to chop and grill for skewers. "Not to mention it's such a surprise to see, you know, a rich person cooking instead of having someone else do it for them."  
  
"I enjoy cooking. It keeps me grounded." He glanced over at Sören before he got to work. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"  
  
"Water, if you've got it?"  
  
Aurelio brought him bottled water of the non-sparkling variety, which Sören accepted with a "_takk_." Then, as Sören stretched out on the leather couch, Aurelio opened a folder on the glass-top coffee table in front of him and handed Sören a set of papers stapled together. "Here."  
  
"What's this, another thing for me to sign?"  
  
"No." Aurelio went back to the kitchen. "That's a battery of tests. I don't use condoms, but I don't have anything and I know you don't, either."  
  
"You know this because how? You pulled strings to have a look at my medical history?"  
  
"More or less."  
  
Sören felt himself bristling at that, as that wasn't really appropriate of Aurelio to do, but he knew money talked, and he couldn't exactly blame Aurelio for wanting to take measures to find things out on his own rather than take Sören's word for it. Then Sören snickered as he sipped the bottled water. "So this means we're going to fuck."  
  
"It means I'm going to enjoy you," Aurelio said, meeting his eyes, "and you're going to enjoy me."  
  
Sören felt a frisson down his spine, cock stirring in his pants. He was tempted to take his cock out and start stroking it, to tease Aurelio, but he'd wait awhile yet, test the waters some more. With the sexual tension came a sudden rush of nervous energy and Sören found himself getting up to look around the greatroom, fascinated by the paintings and sculptures.  
  
Aurelio had said he owned paintings by Sören, but he didn't see any here in the greatroom. He went to the bathroom again to comb his hair in the mirror and frown at himself, and then his curiosity got the better of him and he went in the bedroom rather than just peeking in the doorway.  
  
There they were, on the wall across from the bed. Four paintings in a row, the prints autographed, and Aurelio had chosen frames of white marble dusted with golden flecks for all of them.  
  
Sören and Anthony mutually had very strange dreams during the nearly two years they were together, that they discussed, some of which Sören began to paint. The first painting in the row was two male Elves, both impossibly gorgeous, one with a flood of black hair to his knees, the other with hair the same length but in waves of a color that could only be described as silver-gold, shifting in the light like the flash of a gem. They were naked, wearing only flowers in their hair, and the one with black hair was on a leash made of pearls, wrapped around the hand of the fair one. The fair Elf was inside the darker, his free hand cupping the dark-haired Elf's chin with a decided look of I-own-you on his handsome face, while the dark-haired Elf was in rapture, his hard cock dripping beads of precum. They were laying together in a high-walled garden of herbs and climbing roses, a pastel sunrise in the sky above. That painting had been entitled _Kiss the Dawn_.  
  
The second was Sören, himself, kneeling in a submissive posture, head bowed, hands bound, flames gathering around him, and some of his naked body was beginning to molt, growing feathers of fire, as if in the act of serving in love, he were becoming a half-man half-bird deity of some forgotten pantheon. _Spirit of Fire_ was the title of that painting, a name Anthony had called him in the bedroom.  
  
The third was the two male Elves again, the fair one in the distance, already turned and looking away, as the dark-haired one walked forward, head downcast, brow furrowed, beautiful in his grief. The sky was overcast and rain was beginning to fall, reflecting the final parting of the two lovers, each mourning, and the title of that painting had been _Rain Falls_. It had been one of Sören's last paintings, following the breakup with Anthony.  
  
The very last - both in the row and the last one Sören had painted; it had been awhile - was Sören as Saint Sebastian, bound to a tree, pierced with three arrows, mortally wounded.  
  
The way Aurelio had arranged the four paintings looked as if Aurelio knew they belonged together, that they were parts in a narrative. Sören felt stricken at the sight of them - he'd known, of course, what paintings Aurelio likely owned of his, but it was one thing to know that and another thing to see it right in front of him. Sören was not expecting the sucker punch to his feelings, bringing tears to his eyes on a night that was not for tears.  
  
Sören tried to pull himself together when he came back to the greatroom, where dinner was just about ready. Aurelio joined him on the couch for the meal, and Sören took his time, enjoying the spicy seasoning used on the grilled fish and vegetables. Their knees were touching, and every now and again their eyes would meet and Sören gave him a shy little smile. Aurelio had brought out a crisp white wine to go with the skewers, and as Sören sipped his wine he noticed Aurelio was watching him intently, bringing a flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol.  
  
Dessert was next - either Aurelio had made a very lucky guess or he'd done research that Sören found even more unsettling than looking at his health, because it was strawberries with whipped cream. Fresh fruit had been a luxury for Sören growing up, and though he liked sweets and pastries as much as most people did, fresh fruit was his real weakness. It was also now when the gloves started to come off, with Aurelio dipping the strawberries into the cream and feeding Sören from his fingers like he was a pet being given a treat.  
  
When the strawberries were gone but some whipped cream remained, Aurelio used his fingers as a spoon and Sören began to lick and suck the cream from his fingers. Aurelio's eyes could drill through granite now, and Sören responded, cock straining his leather trousers. After the cream was finished and Aurelio put the bowl aside, Sören heard himself offer, "Should I do the dishes?" since he was a guest in Aurelio's home.  
  
"You're doing something else," Aurelio said, got up, and gestured for Sören to follow him.  
  
Once they were in the bedroom, Aurelio lit the candles around the bedroom, including and especially on a table underneath the four paintings Sören had done. Then Aurelio undressed Sören himself, like he was unwrapping a present. When Sören was fully naked - and fully erect, Aurelio smiling at the hard cock ready for him - Aurelio said, simply, "Kneel."  
  
Sören knelt, and waited as Aurelio undressed himself. Then Aurelio walked to where the four paintings of Sören's were displayed, and Sören watched as he opened a box that was on the table underneath, and produced a leather collar and leash. Sören was no stranger to leash play, having been on a leash for Anthony on occasion... but Anthony had been the only one he'd ever submitted to. Aurelio was practically a stranger.  
  
And yet, Sören accepted the collar, and the leash. Aurelio gave Sören's face a tender caress before he gave the leash a tug, pulling Sören forward towards his own hard cock. He held the leash as his cock disappeared into Sören's mouth. Their eyes held, locked, and Sören felt a tremor go through him as he got to work, head bobbing, Aurelio's cock pushing and pulling in and out, Sören sucking for all he was worth.  
  
Aurelio was silent at first, and then his breath hitched when Sören found a rhythm. When Aurelio began to moan, Sören moaned too with his mouth full, reveling in the sounds Aurelio made, the look of lust on his face as he got into it. Sören sucked harder and faster, enjoying himself, his own cock and hole twinging for attention. Before Aurelio could come in Sören's mouth he pulled out, and led Sören on the leash over to the bed.  
  
"So, d'you have a safeword we're using, or...?" Sören raised an eyebrow.  
  
"If you need me to stop anything I'm doing, 'no' or 'stop' works," Aurelio said.  
  
"Fair."  
  
Aurelio had Sören lay on his back, and he tied the leash to the bed. He leaned in and claimed Sören's mouth, kissing him again and again as their hard cocks rubbed together. Sören liked having his hands free - for now - so as Aurelio's hands slid over him, Sören touched Aurelio in turn, impressed with the lean, sculpted body before him, especially the defined, veiny arms, so strong. "You're gorgeous," Sören whispered, fingers tracing over Aurelio's washboard stomach, his pecs, his biceps. "Delicious."  
  
"And you are a work of art." Aurelio gave Sören's face another tender caress, looking into his eyes before he gave Sören a deep, hungry kiss, one that made Sören's cock jolt against his. Aurelio chuckled at it, and hooked his index finger through the Prince Albert ring in the head of Sören's cock, like it belonged to him. "You deserve a diamond," he said, running his finger over the captive bead ring in the piercing.  
  
Sören smirked. "Flattery will get you everywhere, Aurelio Fiorella." He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "Maybe even inside me."  
  
"Mmmmm... but not yet." Aurelio's fingers brushed a pierced nipple and began to rub, before giving a tug of the nipple ring. "Such beauty demands worship."  
  
With that, Aurelio kissed Sören's mouth again, and then he licked and kissed Sören's neck, his shoulder, down to Sören's nipples. As his tongue teased one, his fingers teased the other, rubbing, pinching, and already Sören was writhing beneath him, moaning, his nipples hard-wired to his cock. Back and forth Aurelio went between Sören's nipples, feasting, driving Sören wild until he couldn't take it anymore and cried out, "Please, Aurelio, take me..."  
  
Aurelio laughed softly. "I said not yet."  
  
He kissed down Sören's chest to his stomach, then down one thigh, and up the other. He nibbled Sören's navel before taking a lick at Sören's cock, which was now dripping precum. And then he just licked it. And licked it. Sören panted, howled, writhing harder, hearing himself whimpering, keening, almost embarrassed by the sounds he was making, by the raw sexual _need_ coursing through him. He felt so sluttish, being this ready and willing with a near-stranger, even a breathtaking, beautiful-as-to-be-otherworldly stranger.  
  
And he loved it. He'd missed sex. He'd missed that feeling of being _alive_ as passion consumed him. He didn't miss the days of casual, anonymous sex in Reykjavik, filling a void and not quite filling it, but he missed what he had with Anthony. And Anthony was gone, but maybe, just maybe, he could get his needs met again, somehow, someway, from someone.  
  
Aurelio lapped at Sören's cock like it was a sweet treat that he'd been looking forward to for days. The expression on his face was downright mischievous as he edged Sören for what felt like an eternity, licking his cock, getting it more and more excited, but keeping Sören just shy of climax.  
  
"Aurelio, please." Sören was gasping for breath, quivering involuntarily - his thighs were quaking, even. "Please. Oh god, please, _please_..."  
  
"You have a magnificent cock," Aurelio told him, taking another lick.  
  
The words almost stung, Sören remembering Anthony's parting shot that the man he'd cheated with had been better-endowed. But the sting was sweet, now, Aurelio touching that wound and giving it a balm that Sören hadn't wanted to need, yet badly needed.  
  
Aurelio patted Sören's thigh, then, and he untied the leash from the bedpost. "On your stomach," he said.  
  
When Sören lay on his stomach, Aurelio retied the leash. Sören tilted his head to watch Aurelio get out massage oil, and then Aurelio straddled his hips and poured oil over Sören's back.  
  
That was another thing Sören hadn't experienced since his ex. Anthony had taken good care of him - he hadn't just been dominant, but he'd been very sensual, and liked to make Sören feel better when Sören was constantly exhausted from his long hours as a surgeon, and carried so much tension in his body on a regular basis, coiled and ready to spring. Feeling Aurelio's hands knead him now brought tears to his eyes, the ache of nostalgia, and the glimmer of hope he dared not have, that maybe there was life after heartbreak.  
  
Aurelio's hands worked him over and over, Sören feeling like he was melting with those gifted hands. Aurelio's hard cock rubbing in the crack of his ass kept Sören on edge, still aching for release, the perfect blend of relief in his body and urgency in his cock. When Aurelio's cock left the crack of Sören's ass, Sören gave a little whimper of protest, and then he felt Aurelio slide down the length of him and there was Aurelio's tongue, licking around the rim of his opening in slow, lazy circles. When Sören realized what Aurelio was going to do he heard himself cry out "oh shit, oh god, oh fuck," and a "_yes_" as Aurelio's tongue speared inside.  
  
Aurelio ate Sören with savage hunger. Sören bucked against his face, fucking himself on Aurelio's wicked tongue. Aurelio growled into him, tongue lashing fast and furious, getting him right on that sweet spot that threatened to send Sören flying, yet still kept his orgasm just out of reach. Sören screamed into the pillows until he was practically sobbing, begging for it. "Aurelio, take me, please. Please. Oh god, please, I need you inside me, I need you inside me _now, RIGHT FUCKING NOW_..."  
  
Aurelio finally relented. "You win," he said, chuckling, giving Sören's ass a playful swat. Sören heard the sounds of Aurelio lubing his cock, and then slick fingers pushed into him.  
  
It had been long enough since the last time Sören had sex that he was tight, and Aurelio knew this, working two then three fingers into Sören, rubbing his prostate, opening him up. When Sören was ready, Aurelio untied the leash from the bed, wrapped it around his hand, and began to push into Sören, an inch at a time. And when he was all the way inside Sören, he lay on top of him, Aurelio's chest on Sören's back, and he sank his teeth into the sweet spot where neck and shoulder met, as if he were a rutting animal and claiming Sören as his mate.  
  
He went slowly at first, to ease Sören into it, but soon enough he was slamming into Sören and Sören was rocking his hips right back at Aurelio. Aurelio tugged on the leash with one hand and pulled Sören's curls with the other, and that made Sören frantic for it, bucking against him even faster, crying out "more, more..."  
  
When they got closer, Aurelio leaned down again, tilted Sören's face to his, and kissed him deeply. Sören trembled, letting out a whimper into the kiss as if to warn the man dominating him that he was almost there, and Aurelio responded with an "mmm-hmm" as if to encourage him. They kissed and kissed, tongues rubbing together, and then Aurelio rasped, "Come for me," just before he licked Sören's neck and bit his shoulder.  
  
Sören came screaming, and a few seconds later he felt Aurelio come inside him. They moaned and cried out together, shaking, and Aurelio's arms were around him now, as if Sören were falling and Aurelio was catching him.  
  
"Yes. Oh god, _yes_, Aurelio, yes," Sören gasped, tears coming on strong with the shock of the intensity of his orgasm. It had been _too long_ so lonely and cold.  
  
"Yes. Fly with me." Aurelio nuzzled Sören's neck, and gave him a sweet, gentle kiss as their orgasm continued to sear them both.  
  
They ended up on their sides, cuddling for a little while, recharging. Petting became caressing, little kisses became deeper, fiercer, hotter. When they both hardened up again Aurelio took their cocks into his fist, stroking as his mouth claimed Sören's over and over. Sören finally rasped, "How do you want it?"  
  
Aurelio smirked. "Ride me."  
  
Aurelio lay on his back and Sören straddled his hips. With a tug of the leash, Aurelio watched with heat in his eyes as Sören sank down onto his cock, and Aurelio tugged the leash again once he was all the way inside.  
  
Sören kept the pace slow for a few minutes, mindful of the fact that it had been over a year since the last time he'd had sex and he was still very tight. Not that Aurelio seemed to mind, hands sliding over Sören's body, watching the fluid, sensual grace of his slowly rolling hips, working on top of him like a dancer. "Beautiful," Aurelio whispered.  
  
It was soon enough that Sören needed it faster, harder, bouncing on top of him, and then Aurelio grabbed Sören's hips and drove into him with abandon, Sören grabbing Aurelio's hair for extra support as he rode like he was on a wild bull or a racing stallion. Sören was crying out so loudly his voice was getting hoarse, and when Aurelio began to slap his ass it almost sent Sören over the edge, but Sören hung on, not wanting the blinding, burning glory of sex to be over just yet.  
  
Aurelio began to stroke Sören's cock furiously. "I can't hold back," Aurelio ground out. "Need you to come with me..."  
  
A few thrusts later and Sören erupted, throwing his head back with a cry as he spilled over Aurelio's body. Aurelio shot into him within seconds, also crying out. He pulled the leash hard and he and Sören kissed passionately through their climax, Aurelio's arms wrapped around Sören's again as Sören grabbed his face, kissing Aurelio like he was claiming him, even as he felt claimed.  
  
Sören rested on Aurelio's chest. He wasn't quite spent yet, but he was going to need a break from being penetrated after two hard poundings. Before he could ask Aurelio what he wanted to do now, Aurelio asked, "Would you like to take me?"  
  
Sören nodded eagerly.  
  
Sören wasn't going to let Aurelio get away without at least a little foreplay, in charge or not. His fingers played around Aurelio's opening. "I want to eat you out," Sören whispered, keenly aware of how crass that sounded, but there was really no other way to put it.  
  
Aurelio chuckled. "Yes, please."  
  
Sören dipped down and pushed his tongue into Aurelio's opening. Then he ate Aurelio like he'd been starving for it - in a way, he had - as Aurelio grabbed his curls, played with the leash, groaning and gasping and growling, going deeper and deeper into sensation. Sören's tongue lashed and lashed, then fluttered more slowly and teasingly, then he was back to devouring him. When Aurelio was the one to writhe, starting to cry out, Sören smiled against Aurelio's channel, feeling a sense of victory. Aurelio finally made a menacing, feral noise, yanking Sören up on the leash. "Now," he demanded.  
  
Sören lubed his cock and guided it to Aurelio's opening. The silken heat wrapped around him threatened to undo him right away. He necessarily thrust slowly, not just because he didn't know how long it had been for Aurelio, but also he needed to keep himself in check, wanting Aurelio to come first, not wanting to blow his load right away. Aurelio, however, wouldn't let him get away with going slow for long. "Harder," Aurelio growled. "Faster."  
  
Sören did love a power bottom - when Anthony had bottomed for him he'd been a lot like this, still dominating - and Sören got into it, trembling as he tried to hold back his orgasm, focusing on Aurelio's pleasure. Soon enough one of Aurelio's legs was propped up on Sören's shoulder and he was pounding, and Aurelio rocked back at him, panting for it, cock leaking precum. "Yes, take it. Show me no mercy," Aurelio commanded.  
  
At last both of Aurelio's legs were on Sören's shoulders and he was driving into Aurelio so hard that the bed was slamming against the wall, the slap of Sören's balls against Aurelio's ass as loud as their cries. Aurelio felt so good, _so fucking good_, and the look of desperate hunger on Aurelio's face and the fine sheen of sweat on his body and the engorged cock slick with precum just fueled Sören's lust all the hotter, going deeper and deeper into pleasure, passion, where this was all that existed.  
  
"Oh god," Sören called out. "Oh god..." He was dangerously close to coming first.  
  
"That's it. Lose yourself, show me that fire." Aurelio tugged the leash. "Give in to me."  
  
Sören pounded as hard as he could, and reached for Aurelio's cock, stroking in time with his thrusts. Sören couldn't even make words now, he was so far gone, at the place where he was about to go off any time now...  
  
...and when Aurelio came first, shooting over Sören's body, Sören howled as he let go, exploding deep inside him, a full-body orgasm that made his toes curl. Aurelio gasped with a look on his face like he was seeing God himself as his body shook, cock spurting and spurting over Sören, walls clenching and pulsing around the cock seeding him.  
  
"So beautiful," Aurelio breathed, reaching up to stroke Sören's face. "So much power. So much fire."  
  
Sören kissed Aurelio's brow. He closed his eyes as the tears fell again. "Thank you," he whispered. He felt like he had been given a gift of some kind, though he wasn't sure entirely what it was. "_Thank you._"  
  
Sören dozed off after sex, as he tended to do when he was with Anthony. When Sören came to, he realized the gravity of it - he didn't like to sleep with strangers, so the fact that he felt comfortable enough to nap after sex was a big deal.  
  
Aurelio was gently petting Sören's curls, watching him sleep, and when Sören stirred awake, Aurelio smiled and said, "Hello."  
  
"Hey yourself." Sören stretched and snuggled against him again. Reflexively, Sören looked at the time, a force of habit as a busy surgeon.  
  
"Do you have to work tomorrow?" Aurelio asked, noticing him looking at the clock.  
  
Sören shook his head. "It was my birthday this past week and I requested this weekend off as a gift to myself, awhile back." He chuckled. "This was quite a nice present."  
  
"If you don't have to work this weekend..." Aurelio stroked Sören's face. "Would you like to spend the weekend with me, here?"  
  
Sören nodded without hesitation. "I'd like that, yes."  
  
"Good. We'll have all weekend to play some more. In the meantime..." Aurelios arms tightened around Sören and he kissed Sören's brow. "Rest, my dear. You need it."  
  
_You don't know how much._ Sören was constantly running on a sleep deficit. He closed his eyes and slid back into the golden afterglow, melting away.


	6. Sins of the Father

"Oh shit, I slept _twelve_ hours?" Sören groaned as he looked at the clock through bleary eyes, then at Aurelio, standing over him in a robe. "I'm so sorry -"  
  
"I told you to rest, did I not? You were a good pet and did as you were told." Aurelio chuckled. "Clearly, you must have needed the sleep."  
  
"_God._" Sören rubbed his face and sat up. "I am exhausted _constantly._"  
  
"I imagine so. Well, this weekend is for you as much as it is for me. What would you like for breakfast?"  
  
"You," Sören leered.  
  
Aurelio laughed again. "You need actual food to fuel all that fire, my dear." He tousled Sören's curls. "Omelette, perhaps?"  
  
"Oh, that sounds lovely."  
  
Aurelio brought him breakfast in bed - a perfectly light, fluffy omelette with cheese and leftover peppers, onions and mushrooms from the skewers last night, and there was melon to go with it. Sören giggled when Aurelio fed him forkfuls of omelette and spoonfuls of melon, smiling and petting him indulgently.  
  
After breakfast Sören sniffed his armpit and made a face. "I need a shower, after all the sex and all the sleep." He shook his head. "I still can't believe I slept _twelve fucking hours_..."  
  
Sören expected to shower alone, but once he'd been in the shower for a few minutes, lathering, Aurelio joined him. They sensually lathered each other and kissed under the spray as they rinsed off, hard cocks rubbing together.  
  
When Aurelio took him back to bed, they spent awhile just kissing, looking into each other's eyes, and Sören asked one of the things he'd been curious about but had not felt bold enough to ask. "Why are you still single?" He crinkled his nose and bit his lower lip. "Because you shouldn't be."  
  
"I thought you said to me on the phone you're not looking for a relationship with this," Aurelio said, tracing Sören's lips with his finger.  
  
"I did say that, yes."  
  
"I don't do relationships," Aurelio said. "This is just one weekend for me. Nothing is going to come of this, except a good memory for us both. Anything more than that creates attachments and complications that I can't afford in my life."  
  
"Já, I think I get that." Sören sighed. "I'm a surgeon, I work batshit insane hours. I barely have enough time to sleep, never mind anything else."  
  
"I think you do and don't get it," Aurelio said. "You may be a surgeon, but your life is not a cold, sterile operating room." He gestured to Sören's paintings on the wall. "Your heart is a forge. It needs fire. Like the kind of fire you showed me last night, and will show me again shortly. I'm used to being alone, I've been alone for a long time... lovers like passing ships in the night. But you are not. You say you didn't sign up for the charity auction to find a partner, but it was a step in that direction. And I am here to push you along."  
  
"You talk too much," Sören teased.  
  
Aurelio kissed him roughly, and put the leash and collar back on Sören.  
  
They got into position with their heads between each other's legs, sucking each other's cocks, rimming each other's openings, sucking hungrier and coming in each other's mouths. With a first release out of the way, Aurelio tied Sören's wrists to the bed and proceeded to lick him all over, every inch of his body from his neck down to his ankles, down then up then down again, then back up to Sören's cock, licking and licking and licking until Sören was sobbing, not even able to make words to plead for relief. Aurelio finally licked inside Sören, tongue fucking him slowly then fast and hard then slowly again, and it was with that slow, sweet teasing of his tongue that Sören climaxed, shooting all over Aurelio's face and neck and chest.  
  
Aurelio laughed, unbound Sören's wrists, and kissed Sören, and then Sören licked his cum off Aurelio and kissed him again.  
  
"Still hungry?" Aurelio asked, teasing one of Sören's nipples.  
  
"Very."  
  
Aurelio got on top of Sören, readied them both, and impaled himself on Sören's cock. He rode and rode, and Sören was entranced by the sight of him - so graceful, so sensual, even when he was bucking wildly. Sören played with Aurelio's golden hair, pulling it as he thrust up into him even as Aurelio pulled on the leash to urge Sören on harder and faster. They came together, shouting, and Aurelio returned the facial, Sören lapping at the flowing seed like Aurelio was a fountain.  
  
They rested for a bit and then they needed more. Aurelio got on all fours, face down ass up, and Sören took him from behind, nibbling and biting Aurelio's neck, reaching around to hold him as he thrust away. Aurelio got more and more vocal, threatening to undo Sören with each moan.  
  
"That ring," Aurelio cried out. "So good..."  
  
Sören growled and bit Aurelio's neck again, then he tilted Aurelio's head to face him and kissed him hard. Aurelio pulled the leash, and three thrusts later they let go, coming together again.  
  
Sören passed out once more after sex. Aurelio woke him up for dinner, a Spanish-style chicken and rice dish that Sören profusely complimented.  
  
After dinner there was strawberries and whipped cream again, but this time Aurelio took it into the bedroom, the two eating strawberries and whipped cream off each other's naked bodies, which turned into Sören laying on his back as Aurelio sucked him to climax, and then Sören returning the favor, sucking Aurelio's cock until Aurelio flooded his mouth. Sören dozed off again and woke in the middle of the night to Aurelio spooning him, and asked Aurelio to take him just like that. With Aurelio's arms around him, Aurelio's chest against his back, thrusting slowly until the very end with a fast, hard finish, Sören came again and fell back into sleep.  
  
Sören slept in again, waking late on Sunday morning. "What time do you need to go back?" Aurelio asked.  
  
"I work _early_ tomorrow," Sören said, "and I need to go home tonight, so... late afternoon, early evening, we need to wrap this up. But we've got time for a last few rounds."  
  
"Good. I want to spoil you some more."  
  
After crepes for breakfast, Sören joined Aurelio in the jacuzzi, drinking champagne. They cuddled together in the heat and bubbles and when Sören had prune skin and he was thinking about getting out but didn't want to just yet, he said, "Thank you for this entire weekend."  
  
"The pleasure has been mine."  
  
Sören raised an eyebrow. "Are you _very_ sure you don't want to continue this past this weekend? Fuckbuddies, if not a relationship?"  
  
"Please don't take offense, but no. You're already attached, and it can't go farther than this."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded, and tried to not show his disappointment.  
  
"Sören... I don't mean to pry, but why are _you_ still single? It's not just because of your hours, you were in a relationship before, and working the hours you do."  
  
Sören sighed. "I told you, I was in an engagement. It ended."  
  
"Yes, I got that. And it's been over a year?"  
  
Sören groaned. He knew he wasn't going to get out of this unless he said flat-out he wasn't talking about it, and he hadn't talked about it to _anyone_. It was time for some free therapy. "He cheated."  
  
"Oh." Aurelio's eyebrows went up. "That's... surprising. I can't imagine anyone with you would feel the need to cheat, as hungry as you are, they can have all they want."  
  
"Well..." Sören gave a bitter laugh. "I was working a hundred hours a week to pick up the slack for one of the neurosurgeons that died. I was microsleeping and missing stops on the Tube, blanking out during conversations. I had a short fuse where every little thing was getting on my last nerve, my husband-to-be had asshole friends and I stopped wanting to go out and socialize with them, I withdrew into my art when I wasn't sleeping because it was keeping me sane. I tried to give what I could, but it wasn't enough, and he ended up getting a Grindr account behind my back and I came home to him fucking another guy. And I blew up at him, and he reacted, and..."  
  
"I see." Aurelio frowned. "Forgive me for saying this, but I don't understand serial monogamy. It's one of the reasons why I don't do relationships."  
  
"To be honest, I don't really get monogamy either. I wondered a few times over the course of our relationship if I should broach the topic of an open relationship just to make sure he got his needs met, because he's an animal like I am. It wasn't him shagging someone else that was the issue, it was the dishonesty, going behind my back - I would have given permission if he'd asked. I would have said 'hey, get vids'. I would have even suggested it be someone we could, you know, share, have threesomes with sometimes when I had time again. It's also the lack of communication. At no time on his end did he give me any indicator things were less than fine. I thought, and he acted, like this was just a bump in the road and after our wedding, my hours would calm down a bit and we'd be back to normal. But he was doing that _goddamn British_ stiff upper lip thing with pretending like everything was perfectly all right, no chaos here, no problem, and it wasn't until that day I came home and found what I found that the mask finally cracked and he broke down and _cried_ and told me how terribly lonely he'd been and I felt like a fucking _monster_, like some selfish ass who put career above the relationship. I work NHS instead of private sector for conscience reasons - I'm Scandinavian, socialized medicine is important - but you bet your _life_ if he'd had told me any of that instead of cheating, I would have gone private sector posthaste. I wouldn't have been entirely happy about it, but I'd have done it _for him_. And instead it was just... nope, you're a good man, Sören, I admire your convictions now if you'll excuse me I have to go bang Scotty2Hotty over here." Sören flexed his toes in the water, suddenly self-conscious about how much he'd let out. "Jesus, I'm sorry -"  
  
"No need to apologize, my dear. I asked, I wanted to know."  
  
"OK." Sören nodded. "But... there you have it. There's the sad, tragic story as far as why I don't do relationships anymore."  
  
"Even though you want to."  
  
Sören shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I want."  
  
"It does. You might be able to sustain your lifestyle now, but you won't for much longer. The fact that you signed up for the charity auction is a sign that you need _some_ sort of companionship in your life. If all you have going for you in your life is your job, and it runs you ragged like it does, sooner or later, and probably sooner, you're going to burn out. You speak of practicing medicine out of conviction. You do the greater good no favors if the NHS becomes short a provider because you fall apart. Self-care is important, beauty. I cannot give you what you need - what you _deserve_ \- but someone out there can."  
  
"Jæja, until they get fed up with my hours and decide to go fuck some dude on Grindr behind my back."  
  
"If your relationship with Anthony had been open from the start, do you think it would have made a difference?"  
  
Sören considered, and then he nodded. "We'd probably still be together now."  
  
"So, going forward, tell any future partners you don't do monogamy. That they are free to see other people." Aurelio cocked his head to one side. "And maybe you should be, as well."  
  
Sören snorted. "I barely have time to sleep, let alone fuck a bunch of people."  
  
"I think that your own mental health could benefit from not trying to get all your needs met with only one person. Different partners for different needs you have. As far as time... you did make time for Anthony, before. When there's a will there's a way. You didn't become a neurosurgeon without willpower, Sören Sigurðsson."  
  
"OK." Sören felt uncomfortable with this discussion and wanted it to be over, but he knew Aurelio was probably right. "I'll... consider your points."  
  
Aurelio smirked. "I have another point that might be worth your attention."  
  
Sören also smirked. "Oh, do you now?"  
  
Back in the bedroom, Sören rode Aurelio again, wrists bound, on the leash. Sören rode achingly slowly, teasingly, as sensual Middle Eastern rhythms played on a stereo, Sören working his hips like a dancer, Aurelio's oiled hands gliding over him. And as the music got faster, more frenetic, Sören rode harder, Aurelio grabbing him, thrusting into him almost violently. Sören's big finish was loud and messy and he laughed and cried as the euphoria washed over him like light.  
  
Aurelio drove him back to Holborn in silence. They lingered at the curb outside Sören's flat.  
  
"So I guess this is goodbye," Sören said.  
  
Aurelio stroked Sören's face and kissed his brow, then gave him a soft, sweet kiss. "Not a goodbye, dear. A hello to the next chapter of your life. Someone is out there. Someones, even."  
  
"You sound so sure of that."  
  
"You have too much fire for me to not be sure of that." Aurelio kissed him deeply, and then he tousled Sören's curls. "Go, Sören. Be well."  
  
"Thank you for everything." Sören took Aurelio's hand and kissed it, and then he got out of the car.  
  
When he'd been at his flat for awhile he decided to call Aurelio's number, plugged into his phone, to ask if he had any single friends with similar appetites who might be looking for some fun. And when he called Aurelio's number, he promptly got a beep and an automated voice saying "_The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected..._"  
  
"_Fokk mér hliðar._" Sören pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and then he went into his contacts and deleted Aurelio's number - he really was serious about not wanting to continue this past the weekend.  
  
Then, while he was at it, he did the thing he'd been putting off since October 2013, because it was the final final nail in the coffin and he hadn't wanted to deal with it before now, hadn't wanted to give up that last tiny sliver of hope he had that maybe, someday...  
  
"Fuck you, Anthony." He deleted the number of Anthony Hewlett-Johnson from his contacts, and then he threw his phone down on the coffee table, grabbed a pillow, curled up in the fetal position on the couch, and sobbed.  
  
On Monday morning, Sören got into work a little early and reviewed his schedule for the next fortnight. December looked like it was going to be a busy month, but he remembered what Aurelio had said about making time if he really wanted something. Maybe in a couple weeks he'd get a Grindr account of his own. _Once you fall off a horse, you get back on, and all of that._  
  
  
_  
  
  
Glorfindel lingered outside the entrance of _Curious Goods_, a high-end antique shop owned by a certain Marion Allendale. To most people, Marion Allendale was a flamboyant eccentric whose shop reflected those tastes - for the most part, ornate and beautiful, well-crafted finds from around the world, in bygone eras, furnishings and pottery and glasswork and jewelry, original art, hardbound books. There were some pieces from indigenous peoples, traditional sculptures and basketry and wall hangings. And then there was the area in the back of the shop - while most of the shop was free for patrons to roam, Marion Allendale would accompany all patrons interested in visiting the back area and gently hover a few meters away, keeping a watchful eye as they examined more arcane goods, reputed amulets and talismans and scrolls and grimoires and sigils and magical tools. Marion Allendale sold these "for entertainment purposes only" but Glorfindel knew all too well that the entertainment was all "Marion Allendale's" himself, watching the new owners of this arcana succumb to ill-health, ill-fortune and madness, or watch the others around them suffer.  
  
"Marion Allendale" was the latest alias used by Sauron, who was wandering the Earth just as Maglor did, and the presence of such evil had put Glorfindel on notice. And when Glorfindel had entered the modern world, taking the alias of Aurelio Fiorella, he found Sauron was not just present.. but his own father, Finarfin, reborn as a mortal named Anthony Hewlett-Johnson, who did not yet know who he was... and had made a fine mess of things. Glorfindel wasn't just here to keep an eye on Sauron and prepare for another fight, but he was here to set the gears in motion to save his father from himself.  
  
_Don't say I never did anything for you, Adar_, Glorfindel thought to himself, thinking of his weekend with Fëanor, also reborn as mortal, the beautiful, passionate Sören. Of course, his time with Sören had not been wholly an unselfish act of duty - he had once known pleasures with his uncle Fëanor before - but he hoped that re-igniting that spark in Sören would help get him to where he needed to go. To find his way back to Finarfin, now called Anthony. To find his way to Fingolfin. They needed each other... and the world needed them. Sauron was too powerful for Glorfindel to face alone - Sauron had gained much power in the madness of the brave new world, and Glorfindel needed their light to help turn back the darkness. But in the meantime, he could send a warning.  
  
A raven casually ambled along the sidewalk; to passerby it was just another bird looking for juicy worms after the rain. Glorfindel knew this raven was looking at one worm especially, and he took a moment to give it a fond smile before he glared at Sauron through the shop window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glorfindel as Finarfin's son is fanon rather than canon, but I treat it as fact within my multiverse.
> 
> The significance of the raven can be found in the [Northern Lights](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300868) universe.


End file.
